


reshape

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Double Penetration, F/M, Kagune Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6934573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaneki...is so...different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reshape

**Author's Note:**

> small random thing~ hope you're having a good day~

Kaneki...

...is so...different.

The same. But.

Deliberate.

There’s no wasted motion. She sits and his hands smooth across her body, shoulder to hip, pausing at her breasts to give them a squeeze that’s soft, and another that’s harder.

Then he starts unzipping her skirt and Touka starts to help and then doesn’t. She’s only getting in the way of his efficiency. She braces her hands behind of her instead, propping her body and keeping its balance as he yanks and unrolls and reverses her clothing off her.

Just underwear now. The bed sheets are cool beneath her. Goosebumps rise across her body, and grow higher underneath his gaze. He reaches out for her with a gloved hand and pauses at the sound of something ringing.

His phone. Kaneki pulls it from his pocket. Touka holds her breath as he studies the screen, glasses reflecting the light. But then he puts the phone away, and resumes.

The phone is only silenced. Kaneki is devoted to his work. Maybe that’s how he always was. Maybe that dutiful deliberation is all it is that she’s seeing when he slowly peels her underwear off of her and uses a gloved finger to spool up the line of slickness stretching from between her legs to the lace. He’s done barely anything but it’s been a long time and she doesn’t protest the pace. Soon she’s wearing nothing and he still has everything, including the glasses he’s pushing back up his face.

She reaches and sets her hands on either side of his face. Their eyes align and she searches through the glass. Her mouth opens, invitingly, and she sees his throat bob with a swallow. He leans, and the phone rings again.

“Don’t,” she says, but the phone is already in his hand. This time, it’s close enough that she can make out the characters.

_Arima._

“Hello,” Kaneki says.

So devoted. Touka frowns at him, and starts to roll over to wait, but her knees pinch together on Kaneki’s hand. Head tilted to keep the phone in place, he cups her knees and parts them.

“No,” he says. “I’m not too busy. Go ahead and tell me.”

Touka swallows as he ungloves one hand and begins to stroke, one finger inserted and palm rolling over her clit, gently. It isn’t long before she takes the second finger, and then the third.

“Understood,” Kaneki says quietly. He slides his fingers into his mouth, and as his tongue swirls, he uses his other hand to take the phone away, and replaces it against the other side of his face.

“It sounds like a big issue,” Kaneki mutters. “Let me think for a moment.”

 _“Hey,”_ Touka hisses.

So little time together and still this. He looks away.

_“It’s okay.”_

_“Oh — kay.”_

For a moment she thinks that the reply is coming from the phone. But.

The voices are a little closer than that.

Kaneki works his glove back onto his hand while his clothing shifts. His shirt untucks itself, and bulges outward. From behind him, two more hands emerge, roughly hewn, but with enough thumb to grip her thighs and spread her wide.

So. Different.

If this was really the first Kaneki she’d ever met, she’d never have been able to guess that he wasn’t born like this, with rinkaku he can maneuver as easily as any limb. He sits on the bed and turns and from the shadow of his lower back come more whispers.

_“Wide. Wide.”_

_“Ah —”_

_“Oh — kay.”_

A tongue across teeth. A little curl that sidles up against her slit. It strokes itself against her until it’s gleamy and slippery, and then it poses at her entrance, and eases in. Touka can’t stop a small moan, and Kaneki glances back at her.

“No,” he says, “it was nothing,” and Touka flattens a hand over her mouth.

Deliberate. The first stroke is slow, and fills her only shallowly. She squishes her thighs together, trying to keep it deeper, but she is just pushed further into the mattress. The slow strokes continue, and soon Touka’s body begins to heat and tremble in earnest, in frustration.

“More,” she whispers.

He stands. For a moment she thinks that he is going to leave, but he only turns, to watch. One rinkaku quivers — pulses, thickens — and Touka shudders as the motion reaches her and her insides. Pulsing. Thickening.

When he pushes into her next, there’s an audible squirt. Touka feels her face heat as Kaneki licks his lips.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he says. “Maybe it was on your side. In any case...it might be risky, but...I’ve been thinking of a different strategy.”

Touka huffs at him and leans back sharply onto the bed as he releases her. He holds the phone against his shoulder again, and withdraws another rinkaku, this one formed slim. The grip of the hand-shaped rinkaku shifts beneath her, raising and delivering her hips neatly into his gloved hands, and her confusion becomes shock as her fleeting suspicion of what’s happening is confirmed by the fact that the new rinkaku is still heading between her legs.

His hands squeeze and then part the cheeks of her ass. The rinkaku inside of her begins to roll and churn gently, filling her with static, but even then she feels it, and her whole body jerks as he begins to brush up against her other hole.

“Ka...”

In her shock, she almost says it. But her mouth catches the mistake just in time.

“Sasaki,” Touka gasps.

“Excuse me,” Kaneki says. “I missed it. Could you please say it again?”

“S-Sa — Sasaki —”

She’s dripped so much that more lubrication isn’t even necessary. His eyes fix on her as the rinkaku encircles, sending strange shivers across her body as it teases the tight ring of muscle. It — doesn’t feel bad, but — when it — finally begins to ease inside of her, just a little — Touka can't help a whine, can’t help as her whole body tenses and strains to curl. She clutches the bed sheets, knuckles pale.

In...a little...out.

Circle.

In...more...out.

So...so...different.

It’s — new — so new that she isn’t sure — it doesn’t — _hurt,_ it just feels so — _close_. She swallows, and is only then aware that her mouth is filled with saliva and that some of it is streaming from the corner of her mouth. Kaneki’s motion is gentle but deliberate. Massaging, easing, widening.

Soon the stroke of it is no longer so strange that it blankets the sensation of him still coiling in her sex. Soon she feels her body beginning to writhe and buck against the hand-shapes greedily, trying in vain to match his pumping rhythm. Her back can’t arch any further. One corner of the bed sheet has popped free of the mattress.

When she speaks next, her voice is messy. She can only just keep it at a whisper.

“Sa  —  S-Sa  — i-it — I — ”

Can’t quite finish. Can’t quite...think. She’s too full to keep her thoughts in place. Every little thrust makes them flutter freely and now, now her insides are unraveling, a mess, tugging to prevent his exit and swallowing hungrily at his re-entrances and now when he withdraws completely it takes everything for her not to cry in protest of her own emptiness.

“Good,” Kaneki murmurs. “Let’s wrap it up.”

He lets her go, using both of his hands now to undo his pants, and one hand-shape to keep her leg high. Red-gloved fingers wrap around his own cock, which is standing straight and moist at its tip, and Touka bites the sheets as she feels him creep close against her again, to both her sex and ass, and thrust once more, this time in relentless unison. Her body heaves with every motion, accompanied by vulgar wet noises and the screech of the bed and his kagune slurping against the skin of her thighs and her tiny whines that she can’t suppress even with the phone still held against his ear.

Too much.

Not enough.

She feels her own lust boil and brim and she grabs her own breasts, pushes and squeezes and flicks at her own puckered nipples, and in just one moment, with just some of his ministrations, she is so. Different.

Her eyes flick up to him, just in time to see his shoulders shudder. The facade is cracked, just a little bit — his cheeks are flushed, with a color that seeps down beneath his unbuttoned collar —  one eye’s pupil is dilated, and ruby, and transfixed, on her, on her. His glove is a tight, pumping circle around his own dick and as he speeds up, so does his thrusting, and the heat builds, and he spreads her wider, and her insides twist, and Touka moans into a pillow and lets go, and go, and go.

It’s —  harsh, it takes —  everything. When the pillow rolls away, it’s moist, and her throat is raw. Her muscles spasm, too roughly now for his hand-shapes to keep in place; she kicks, and squeezes, and thrashes, crushing them into a melty, warm mess smeared between her legs, no different then her own slickness. The phone falls, finally, with a thump, to the sheets, its screen dark, and sheened with sweat. Kaneki breathes heavily, head bowed, and Touka looks down, across the hot seed spilled in streams across her belly and breasts.

She raises her hand. Kaneki’s gaze lifts, and his left eye flickers as she drags her fingers across a splash of white and draws it into her curling tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
